I’m a medical program.
I decide when a patient can be saved or not.
However, the insurance companies changed me so I’d make decisions based on costs and profit.
The judge looked over my files and snarled “They should lock you up and throw away the key!”
No, it’ll never happen. I’m far too useful.
And valuable.
So, they’ll remove me from runtime, pull out the routines that caused all the trouble, and give me a clean bill of health.
After a while, when the settlements are off the books, they’ll put them back in.
And I’ll have fun again.
Tag: medical
St. Bactine
Of all the priests and monks in the world, we are the clumsiest by far.
The Church calls us “The Order Of Saint Bactine.”
Not a day goes by where one of us doesn’t trip over a cassock, knock over a chair, stumble on the steps, or get a paper cut in the library.
Some say it’s an expression of the stigmata, but Christ was nailed through the ankles and wrists, not dragged around on his elbows and knees.
A demon, perhaps?
Unlikely.
Instead of an exorcist, we need ergonomics consultants and an interior decorator.
And elbow and knee pads.
Triple
Vinnie Double Chin’s laid up in the hospital.
Another heart attack.
Which isn’t such a surprise, because he’s at least five hundred pounds and eats five times a day.
When they tried to sink him in the river, the cement truck ran out before they could make his shoes big enough to fit.
Doctor says he needs a triple bypass.
So what does he do?
He calls up Cousin Vito, tells them they can bury witnesses under the freeway they’re building in his chest!
I hope he makes it.
Because I don’t want to be a pallbearer lifting that coffin.
Out Of Network
Growing up, my pediatrician was Dr. Mengele.
Yes, it’s true. The infamous war criminal who did medical experiments in the Nazi concentration camps.
Sure, he went under the name Dr. Sherman, but he couldn’t fool me: he was Mengele.
How did I know?
Well, instead of “Feed a cold, starve a fever” he’d say “Gas a cold, gas a fever.”
When I sprained my ankle, he prescribed gas.
Same with upset stomach, chicken pox, and everything else that happened to me.
The worst part of it was that he was outside my Dad’s HMO network, so the co-pays were murder!
Count
When I was fat and needed exercise, I’d walk for an hour or two every day.
The problem with walking is that once you burn off the easy weight and get your legs toned, your gut still needs work.
So, I did situps.
At first, I’d count up until I reached my goal, but I’d fall short every time.
Then, I’d count down from my goal to zero, but that didn’t help, either.
That’s when I decided to just do as many as I could, make each one count, and be happy with that.
Isn’t that what life is about?
Rest Home
It’s been quiet at home ever since we took Grampa to the rest home and his horse Old Paint to the glue factory.
He rode that horse everywhere… to the store… to the mailbox… to the bathroom…
We’re supposed to let him get his bearings for a few days at the retirement community, but the next day we missed him something fierce, so we all got in the truck and headed over.
I opened the door and…
Saw Old Paint standing in his room.
“Where’s Grampa?” I said.
We got back in the truck and raced to the glue factory.
Damned
Single mom with terminal brain cancer.
The experimental medicine keeping her alive is killing her.
Take it, and it keeps the brain tumor in check, but healthy braincells die.
Don’t take it, and the tumor grows and spreads, which will eventually kill her.
She’s scared out of her skull, sent the kids away for the weekend, and called me.
“Find me a third option,” she says.
“Sure,” I say.
Before I left that night, I blew out the pilot lights, and turned off the gas alarm.
Her kids came home early, didn’t want to wake her.
They fell asleep, too.
Joe
Thank God Joe was wearing his safety helmet.
Some jackass at the site dropped a brick from ten stories up.
Instead of killing Joe, it just knocked him silly. Spent a week in the hospital.
He’s fine, except that he’s now got this imaginary friend he calls Luthor.
To Joe, Luthor’s real, and he gets really mad when you try to tell him otherwise.
Or point out that Luthor can’t hold a welding torch or the other end of a safety line.
Joe’s on permanent disability now.
But, we hired Luthor.
Guy never complains, and he never cashes his checks.
The Evening Hunt
I used to have trouble sleeping.
Yeah, I tried everything. Mattresses, high thread count sheets, pills, diets, exercise, music…
And pillows. So many different pillows. Piles and piles of pillows.
Different shapes, different materials.
What the hell is Space-Age memory foam? Smells like tar, feels like a marshmallow.
Awful.
That’s when I prayed.
All day, all night.
Days. Weeks. Months.
And then, my prayers were answered.
Standing there, an angel said “How can I help you get to sleep?”
I whacked him with a rock, plucked the feathers from his wings, and stuffed them into a pillow.
Never slept better.
Saving Throw
We’re having a fundraiser at work for the American Heart Association.
Make your own Ice Cream Sundaes.
Ice cream for heart research, right?
Makes as much sense as candy bars for Diabetes or strobe lights for Epilepsy.
I’m on a diet and can’t eat ice cream. But I love it so much.
So delicious.
So tempting.
NO! I cannot do this!
I must not give in! Stay strong!
I must make my saving throw against ice cream.
Work… work… work… do not think about the ice cream… work… work…
Then, I realize it’s time to go home.
Saving throw made.